


Whiskey doesn't taste that good in Hell.

by Heavyhitting



Category: Original Work
Genre: Amnesia, Car Accidents, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Major Character Injury, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 08:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20423153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyhitting/pseuds/Heavyhitting
Summary: There's a very good chance that you might've fucked up.Unless, of course, you conveniently managed to forget it all.





	Whiskey doesn't taste that good in Hell.

It started off with a mistake.

According to your nurse, who filled you in after your 4 week coma, you had been  
drinking and driving, and at a stop sign you had failed to notice, you had crashed  
into a neighboring vehicle that contained a lovely married couple that were  
arriving back from the grocery store late at night.

You had, presumably, taken 3 lives.

You were included in this list, for good reason, your doctor assures you.

The shrapnel from the impact had gone straight through your head, slicing through your left eye, rendering it blind and no longer usable, and completely skinning and dismembering the left half of your face.

The right half suffered minor damages, but the only scars that would be left over was the thick one that was settled from your eyebrow to your lip, raising your mouth slightly once you had been stitched up during surgery. 

8 ribs had been cracked during collision, one of which had punctured a lung, and since you had failed to put on your seatbelt, your arm had broke, and your ulna had shot out through your skin.

During your surgical clean up, both the medical professionals surrounding the operating table, and the investigator assigned to determine who died in the other impacted car determined two things.

The surgeons concluded that one, you should have died in that car crash.

The investigator concluded that two, you were not the only person inside of your car.

Your nurse calls you a miracle.

Your doctor calls you an example of why drinking and driving should not be done, quite obviously.

The paper calls you a menace to society. 

Meanwhile, the interrogator calls you "J. Doe," or "Jay," for short.

He tells you that they couldn't recover a lot from the wreckage. That all they could find in the couple's car were their groceries, forms of identification, their license plate, and their bodies. 

You on the other hand, were an enigma. 

Your trunk had been packed with suitcases, rope, and nonperishable foods. You contained no indentification, and when your license plate had been looked up, the closest they could find was the plate of a stolen car that had been reported in Naples, Florida in '93. The only clue they had as to what you were doing, was the passenger you had in the back seat.

Jordan Miller, aged 25, had been reported missing since 1990. They had dissapeared from their home in Milwaukee, Wisconsin at age 12, and the search for them lasted for two years before they were presumed dead, and a funeral was held in 1993.

The interrogator told you, that whoever you were, and wherever you were going.

You were running there.

And you were going as fast as that fucking car could take you.

**Author's Note:**

> Old story I wrote! This is a test fic to try and see how formatting works on AO3!


End file.
